


A Study In Love and Shameless Flirting

by PersonyPepper



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bisexual Disaster Jaskier | Dandelion, Falling In Love, Flirting, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Geralt is stupid, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Mess, M/M, No Angst, Shameless, i fuckin love that tag, i had so much fun writing this, jaskier is a chaotic dumbass, u got lucky this time i was so tempted to shatter your guys' hearts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25153006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonyPepper/pseuds/PersonyPepper
Summary: Jaskier is young, falls in and out of love, more in-love with the idea of love than anything. So when he feels little flutters in his stomach when Geralt happens to walk too close to him, and blushes when he’s kissed, he knows it’s nothing more than infatuation.And it’s not like he can tell Geralt, “Geralt, my dear, I have amajorcrush on you.” When he’d called him his friend, Geralt had been so hesitant; Jaskier is a dumbass but he’s not that stupid to admit that he likes his friend romantically when Geralt scowls at even a hug. And besides, Jaskier is quite sure Geralt doesn’t date. Either way, it doesn’t matter, he’ll find someone else to love.Only, he doesn’t.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 215





	A Study In Love and Shameless Flirting

Jaskier swaggers up to the man, lute slung over his back and a mug of Posada’s infamously piss-poor ale in his hand. He’s fucking _hot_ , okay? And Jaskier’s a simple, simple guy, legs spread wide open, one foot on a stool as he belts out the last of his song while people look on in disgust. He’s quite well-versed into pissing people off so much that they throw food at him, makes for an excellent dinner, stale bread and half-moldy cheese stuffed into his pocket— and oh, some very nice dicking, too, apparently, if he manages to woo this man here, brooding in the corner.

He’s entirely obvious, lips parted as he gets closer to him, white hair shimmering in the morning light, a furrow between his eyebrows as if he’s constantly angry at everyone for everything.

Perfect, just his type, then.

“I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.” Ah yes, Jaskier, such fine a line will make the man fall to his knees in lust. Excellent, acknowledge his sexy broodiness, sure to get him going.

Only, the man raises an unimpressed brow and how he accurately manages to mimic Jaskier’s parents, the bard doesn’t know.

“I’m here to drink alone.” The man stands when Jaskier decidedly does not fuck off, flipping a coin pouch, giving Jaskier the last of his coin. The bard pockets it quickly, surprised he’d been given it at all but certainly isn’t going to question it, coin is coin after all.

“And I’m here to get in your pants,” quickly rising to his feet, the man stopping in his tracks, “are you willing?” Unsubtle. Because licking biting his lips and staring at the man with his jaw dropped hadn’t done it. And neither had complimenting the man’s broodiness, maybe—

“I can suck your dick.”

The man turns to him with a hmm that, looking back at Jaskier through the corner of his eyes.

“I don’t have any more money.” Jaskier shrugs, quite accustomed to be mistaken as a whore.

“Don’t want any— I mean, it’d be nice, but not from—” perhaps he should clarify. “I want to suck your dick. Without payment.” 

The man turns without an answer and Jaskier notices the two swords on his back. The silver hair, the unnatural golden eyes… hh _fuck_ — “Wait, you’re Geralt of Rivia, aren’t—” 

“Shut up and I’ll fuck you.” And uh, no way in hell is Jaskier going to say no to that.

~~ 

Jaskier wakes to the sound of someone shifting around, his body pleasantly sore as he rolls over in a lovely bed that he is very sure he did not have the coin to pay for.

Ah, a sore bottom, a soft (though soft might be an exaggeration caused by Bard Brain) bed and someone shifting around— could only lead to one conclusion.

He’d been fucked _mindless_ last night.

The man— witcher, actually— is about to walk out the door, decidedly ignoring Jaskier’s desperate scrambling to get reclothed. “Geralt, Geralt wait!” The witcher’s guiding his horse, right about to climb onto her when Jaskier catches up, hair disheveled and clothes rumpled as he wraps his hand around Geralt’s forearm to keep him in place— _good gods, the muscle underneath those clothes, I could just—_ fuck, right, focus, Jaskier. He smiles much too wide (can’t be blamed, it’s too fucking early, it has to be illegal to be up right now), as Geralt snarls, lips pulled back to expose fangs as he glares at the hand on his arm before glaring at who it’s connected to. 

Which, very unfortunately, is Jaskier. He steps back, the stirring of arousal low in his gut because _damn being a nineteen-year-old bisexual disaster bard_. “You should let me come with you. I could be your barker, you need a reputation fixed and I can do that for you.” His smile turns only slightly slutty, he may be facing a too-sexy witcher but he still has some self control, “You’d save on whores, too, witcher, just think about it, and I could sing of your exploits, Geralt of Rivia, _White Wolf, friend of humanity_ — Geralt? Geralt!”

Though he says nothing, Geralt doesn’t push Roach— _You named this beautiful lady after a fish? How dare you, Geralt, how dare you —_ past a walk. 

~~

They’re on a contract— a monster’s been around these parts, the Alderman had told them, something old-looking and… saggy that’s been haunting the graveyard.

“A hundred coins for the thing’s head, witcher.” And Geralt had looked so, so tired with the underpayment but had said nothing. And then, by the obvious course of action, Jaskier stepped up, feathers ruffling.

“My good sir,” as if this man was a good _anything_ , “You gave this here witcher a feeble, pathetic description of a monster that could possibly kill him— us, for that matter, only for you to give him coin for three ales in a poor man’s town. Either you are a stingy, thieving bastard, sir, or you are no hard-working man with coin to spare for another.” The man looks properly chastised and slightly annoyed at being called lazy but Jaskier’ll take it when the man hands him another pouch.

“One hundred more, dinner, and a place to stay if you need it, I’ve an extra room and that is all.” Jaskier smiles his shit-eating grin as he throws Geralt the pouch and thanks the alderman. Glad to know his ability to offend the fuck out of people into getting his way still works.

Geralt only grunts as Jaskier turns his grin to him, “Oh come now, you have to admit, that was good!” The witcher grunts again in reply, but Jaskier thinks he can see just a shy hint of a smile.

They settle into the extra room, which turns out to be a shed in the back of the house with a lousy old bed but better than paying for the same thing in an inn, he supposes. Then, it’s off to the graveyard they go, Jaskier highly interested in following Geralt into _dead man’s land_ (heh). If the witcher doesn’t appreciate his sense of humor, that’s on him.

The bard’s fingers won’t stay still, messing with his lute, and when Gerlat tells him he’s being too loud, with the hem of his shirt. He’s still dressed _like a peacock, Jaskier, my eyes hurt (Then quit looking at me,_ he’d wiggled his eyes, a skill he’d only just come to perfect _,,, unless you’d like to see me without them on, could be arranged,,,)_

Geralt, honest to Melitele, probably hates him at this point, but they’ve been traveling together for nearly a week and if he hasn’t gotten that Jaskier isn’t going to quit acting like a leech on his dick, then the man’s got much to learn about Jaskier yet.

He can’t really see much; it’s quite foggy and incredibly dark by the time the sun sets. Jaskier blinks, squinting as he strains to see, though Geralt doesn’t seem to be having problems, eyes pitch black and calm as he assesses the land in front of them. The witcher tenses and _there_ —

Some scraggly old thing bounds out, back hunched, ashen hair wispy over white, glowing eyes.

Oh, it’s _hideous_.

Unfortunately, as Jaskier gapes at it, the hag sees them too, bounding towards them so quickly that she’s but a blur. Geralt ran into the clearing, yellowish glow surrounding him with a sword in his hand and hag fucking screetches, so horribly that Jaskier thinks she might be on par with Valdo’s singing.

The bard watches, heart in his throat as the thing’s tongue (?) flicks out of its mouth, striking the air Geralt was in only a moment ago, the witcher ducking into a roll, swinging his sword as the tongue whips out again. The tongue strikes his yellow glow, the creature screaming as she’s thrown back. 

And to Jaskier’s very unfortunate luck, thrown back to only a few feet in front of the tree he’s (badly) hiding behind. It seems that Geralt realizes that he‘s there same time the hag does— a tongue flicks at him, not in a way he likes, mind, and very quickly, he realizes that he can’t see anything but black. He scrambles as he’s knocked to the ground, a weight on his back as thick fingers intertwine in his hair, slamming him down once, twice, and he’s out before he hears the sound of metal cut through flesh and a guttural shriek.

~~

He wakes to a startle, limbs thrashing as he feels hands on him. “Geralt?” Oh _fuck_ , has the witcher left him behind? Oh classic, leave poor Julian when he’s down for the count, he wonders how many people are going to do that before he learns to—

“Jaskier.” He whips his head towards the sound, relief so potent that it makes his head spin.

“ _Geralt_.” Gosh, that’s quite embarrassing, he sounded so breathy, so relieved, yikes. “Geralt— why can’t I see?” Feels oddly calm about it but he’s quite sure it’s just the shock. The hands move off of him, done with checking for injuries as the body settles down next to him, shoulders brushing each other. 

“Temporary. You should be able to see by sunrise.” Belatedly, Jaskier realizes that the shoulder-brushing is for his benefit, so he knows Geralt’s there by him. Awfully… caring. The witcher’s _kind_ , gave him the last of his coin, let him tag along no matter how annoying Jaskier is and then saving his ass before sitting down right by him to comfort him? Jaskier doesn’t remember the last time someone was kind to him, or cared for him.

“Whatever you’re thinking about doing to the alderman’s son, stop— we’ll be driven out.” The bard realizes that the flush in his cheeks has lead the witcher to think that he was thinking about _fucking_. Which, he’s not mad, under any other situation, Geralt probably wouldn’t be wrong but… 

“Was thinking about you, actually.” Geralt hums in question. “You’re a good man— a good friend.” The silence is so oppressive that Jaskier can barely breathe, waiting for Geralt to snap at him, laugh, probably.

But the man only hums, an oddly pleased sound. “Don’t go spreading that around.” Jaskier grins wide, cursing Melitele for his inability to see his friend’s face.

“No worries, wouldn’t want to ruin your broody image, all the nice ladies like a good, cantankerous man.” Geralt snorts, huffs a laugh and isn’t _that_ a beautiful sound? 

“Perhaps, but I know a bard that especially enjoys it.” And damn Jaskier for being so obvious.

Geralt’s more gentle than usual, using his words to keep from startling Jaskier with his touch as he undressed the both of them, lips pressed against each other’s as they lay in the bedrolls.

Duly, Jasksier wonders as Geralt thrusts into him, his own cock probably flush, likely leaking pre, if he feels more for the witcher than a friend should.

~~

Jaskier is young, falls in and out of love, more in-love with the _idea_ of love than anything. So when he feels little flutters in his stomach when Geralt happens to walk too close to him, and blushes when he’s kissed, he knows it’s nothing more than infatuation.

And it’s not like he can tell Geralt, “Geralt, my dear, I have a _major_ crush on you.” When he’d called him his friend, Geralt had been so hesitant; Jaskier is a dumbass but he’s not _that_ stupid to admit that he likes his friend romantically when Geralt scowls at even a hug. And besides, Jaskier is quite sure Geralt doesn’t date. Either way, it doesn’t matter, he’ll find someone else to love.

Only, he doesn’t. Sleeping with people is all fine and well, a twenty-one-year-old man has _needs_ , but he doesn’t fall in love with any of them. 

Which is _irritating_ because whenever he sees Geralt, no matter if they’re fucking or not, his heart stutters. It really should be concerning, but what with his diet and exercise and lack of familial history with heart disease (unfortunately), it can’t be a heart issue can it? 

He consults a healer just in case.

The healer laughs at him, head thrown back as Jaskier protests, that he gets all these flutters in his stomach, and his heartbeat goes wild and his skin flushes and grows clammy, and yet, the woman only wipes tears out of her eyes, _howling_.

“Alright, out with it— am I dying? If I am, you’ve a terrible sense of humour, Miss, I—”

“Oh silly bard,” the woman gushes, sitting down, “You’re in love. I’m assuming with that witcher you haven’t quit talking about since you walked in, do you just chatter on like that, oh Melitele, I can’t wait to tell my wife about your case, simple too funny, I can’t believe you’ve even come here, bard.”

Only, Jaskier doesn’t hear any of that.

_You’re in love. With that witcher._

No. No way. 

_Maybe?_

_No_ , nope.

“I’ve felt love before, this is surely not—” 

“Oh, I know what you bards classify as love, now me and me wife, Sarah,” a ring glints on her finger, “I feel for her exactly what you’ve described, either you’re dying— which you aren't— or you’re in love.”

He settles on _maybe_ , gives her her coin, and leaves.

~~

That maybe turns into a definite yes that night, Geralt loose and relaxed on white gull after a contract gone well, huffing a laugh as he pulls a sweaty Jaskier into his lap after a performance. Because fuck, the man’s just a giant puppy, sweet as he kisses Jaskier, the tavern erupting into cheer for the White Wolf and his bard.

It’s not really Jaskier’s fault that he hadn’t noticed, he’s never known what love, not between his parents, not for himself, but he feels it so strongly, sat in Geralt’s lap. Geralt loops an arm around his torso to keep him close to the witcher as he whispers horribly dirty things in his ears, adorably hiccuping in between his words so frequently that Jaskier doubts they’re going to get past getting undressed before Geralt falls asleep on his shoulder, likely slobbering with his little fangs poking out.

Oh he’s in deep. He’s in fucking _deep_. But Geralt kisses him again, a gentle press to his cheek before diving into his food and fuck it all, fuck being afraid of love, fuck denying it. 

Jaskier loves Geralt. And maybe, Geralt will grow to love him back.

**Author's Note:**

> Was asked on tumblr to write about Jaskier realizing the he is in love with Geralt and an "oh crap I *love* him" moment. Def a different tone than my usual but I think I captured Jaskier being a chaotic bastard and that was my end goal here xD. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought!!!! Comments are a writer's sustenance!
> 
> [Come say hi on tumblr (@persony-pepper)!](https://persony-pepper.tumblr.com)


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